


Free At Last?

by hydesboy



Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: Shilo has a bad time, graverobber gives vague advice then immediately leaves, post-opera mental breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26581621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydesboy/pseuds/hydesboy
Summary: Shilo Wallace is left all alone and trying to navigate her new world following the Opera, but that is easier said than done in a meaningless world(I definitely don't own Repo! The Genetic Opera or any of the characters, all belong to Darren Smith and Terrance Zdunich)
Kudos: 4





	Free At Last?

Not a single moment ticked by that could be considered quiet, the background noise of the city - the sanctuary, the little quarantine bubble that contained all there was in the world for anyone who happened to find themselves inside - was forever buzzing like a hive of angry bees, stealing away what little chances there could ever be for true silence. But, with all the declarations ("Let your insides show how you are inside!" "GENEco will let you live out your truth!" "Is there a GENternship in your future? Contact GENEco now and find out!") that filled the air from any one of the countless screens that were doing their hardest to block out the sky, the name 'Shilo Wallace' had slipped away to being old news, some delicious scandal or another snatching up the fleeting attention of the world fast enough to let the child and the disastrous Opera of which she played a major part in slip away into whatever part of their minds was reserved for past events of decent enough significance. The world simply had a way of moving on from one thing to whatever the next exciting thing was.  
But what about those that are left behind in this?

It had not been a full month since Shilo Wallace, not yet an adult, lost everything as her world was shattered around her, and she had still not fully picked herself up out of the rubble.

Without her father, her only caretaker, around and with only the very bare minimum survival skills, poor Shilo needed to learn and learn fast. Using the books at hand and a whole lot of trial and error - more error than trial, admittedly - she managed to get by for a month.  
The house, her tomb, seemed so much bigger when she was the only one there. She had thought that she was used to the isolation, the great big empty house, but she had always had her father but now he was dead and she was truly and genuinely all alone and that was all too much for her and she had no idea how to do anything and was struggling and she could not take it any longer because at any moment she was sure that she was going to absolutely lose her mind after everything she had been through and it was too much too much too much too much too much!  
She dropped down to her knees, her breath catching horribly in her throat in a way that was almost reminiscent of the disease that her father had always claimed she had - lies! - but this time there was no medication - poison! - to help her anymore. Once more, the reality that she was all alone came crashing down upon her with the force and weight of a tonne of bricks. She coughed pitifully. Once. Twice. Finally thrice. As shaky as a newborn lamb, she hauled herself back up to her feet, staggering over to lean against the closest surface she could lean on, terribly aware that she might just topple right over again if she wasn't careful.

She needed to get out of there, and needed it right away.

There hadn't been any need for her to leave the house since she had arrived home, bloody and in a daze, and so had been free to mourn in all the ways that she found fit. Nathan had it organised that food would be delivered on a schedule and she had been left with more than enough money to maintain this without her ever having to face anyone at all. But in the best of times being cooped up inside was not good for anyone's mental well-being, and for a grieving teenage girl this was a recipe for absolute disaster. 

It was all well and good to say that she wanted to go out, but actually doing so was a different game altogether, and was not one she knew how to play. First of all, there was still a residual guilt about going outside, having been forbidden to for her whole life, making the fact she was able to open the door and just go feel wrong somehow. Secondly, she hadn't faced the world since the night of the Genetic Opera and she did not know if it would welcome her or try to chase her away.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

The heel of her boots clacked against the cobblestones, as if to remind her that she really was outside, that she really was out for a walk, and that she could handle it.  
Oh, she hoped that she could handle it.

With her head down, as if the ground was significantly more interesting than anything else around her, Shilo was unfortunately unable to distract herself nearly as well as she would have otherwise. Her thoughts were not nearly as muffled by being outside as she had hoped it would, in fact she was quite sure that she could feel every single person she passed looking at her and judging her and recognising her as the kid who had her whole life exposed to the whole damned world and then had everyone die because she was stupid and didn't think about anything that she was doing for more than a second and because of it she's now alone and walking around the streets at night because she lost all track of time and everyone was judging her!  
One hand delicately fluttered to her throat, as if she hoped that she could claw it into being able to breath properly again. Needing to escape, she veered off the path with haphazardous sharpness, ducking into the closest alleyway.

Whether it was incredibly good or incredibly bad fortune, the alleyway was not quite as empty as she had hoped it would be.

Needling down in front of the sacred alter of a woman that whose name would never escape his lips, in holy reverence he brought his humble offering to flesh, there was the Graverobber, claiming the role of both devotee and leader of his little congregation of the lost and broken souls.

The implications of the scene that Shilo had stumbled upon was completely lost on her, however, as she had rather quickly and unceremoniously crumpled down onto the ground in a heap. There were few worse places for someone to collapse, but she was tired, she was alone, and she was frankly sick of it all, thank you very much. The scrap upon the filthy ground was shaking, and looked as if her clothes were more substantial than she was.

"The fu- oh shit!" came the marvelously verbose statement from the Graverobber who had turned from his work as he heard a thump, distractedly shaking out his hand as he returned the Zydrate gun to its holster, hopping up out of his crouch with an impressive silence given his heavy, bulky boots. Like a shadow, he crept forward, not caring that the woman he had been with moments ago had likewise collapsed, her legs unable to support her weight as the glow raced up and down her body like lightning.

"Kid?" he asked, realising that the diminutive figure was one that was familiar to him, "Hey, kid?" He crouched with the particular sort of ease that came from robbing graves specifically - this is, evidently, a very specific sort of crouch that would involve a readiness for heavy lifting, hiding, and a readiness to spring away at any given time if it came to it - and in what was not exactly the most dignified way possible, poked her cheek. Well, at least the kid was alive, as her face twitched and she let out a pitiful whimper, unraveling one hand from underneath her to instinctively swat away his hand. "Shilo, get up!" he demanded once the fact she was still alive was confirmed.

"Just leave me here to die," came the child's response, mumbling directly into the ground, "What would be the point of existing anymore anyway?"

"There isn't one," the man replied with a startling level of nonchalance, "Life doesn't have meaning, you're supposed to find your own meaning yourself, and not, you know, collapse like this in an alley and give up like this."

"Maybe I just don't have meaning."

"Or maybe," said he, "You're just trying to make excuses," he paused, letting this hang in the air for a moment, "This is no place for anyone to find their meaning, c'mon kid, let's get you home, you can start making meaning in the morning but now you gotta go to bed."

The technicoloured man did not wait for her to reply, protest or otherwise, but instead scooped the feeble scrap up unto his arms like a sack of potatoes, and simply started walking in a direction, letting the teenager direct him in whichever way she deemed fit. Thankfully Shilo had not strayed all too far from her home before she grew so overwhelmed she collapsed so it was a matter of moments before they arrived at the grand old house.

The house was grand, there was nobody that could deny that. Even in the broken and ruined world that it was still the ability to create aesthetic greatness in architecture, perhaps not so much as the older world, but mankind's aesthetic pursuits always did shift and reflect the mindset of the those who lived in the world. Not that everyone shared some sort of aesthetic hive mind, of course, and the Graverobber let a displeased grimace briefly twitch unnoticed across his black painted lips when regarding the building.

Setting her back down again, and keeping an arm out just in case she fell again, the man waited just a moment before he taking a step back.  
"Go rest, kid," said he, punctuating this with a theatricised bow. He turned and began to stride back down to the gate again, which was left open as it was already enough of an ordeal to open to get them in while carrying somebody. 

"Wait!" Shilo called, having regained enough strength to shake away some of her crash, "Aren't you going to stay?"

The Graverobber did not reply, but instead raised a hand in a gesture of farewell, his step not even slightly faltering as he moved away, vanishing into the night again. One moment he was there, the next moment he wasn't and she was alone again, and alone again she could feel her breath fluttering.

She swallowed, tried her hardest to collect herself better than she evidently had, and made her way back inside. Her footfalls, however gentle, echoed strangely, ghostly in the empty building as she walked through the entrance and turned off to head to the kitchen.  
Perhaps what she needed was not company, or to leave at all! Maybe all she needed was a nice cup of chamomile tea? There was no knowing if she did not try, and she hadn't done nearly enough trying since she found herself along. She had sulked, she had grieved and mourned and lamented, she had cried, she had raged, but what she hadn't done nearly enough was try. What she hadn't even once tried was to find meaning, instead all she had done was sit around and wait for somebody else to come around and tell her what to do, how to live the life that she had claimed as her own for the first time less than a month ago.

Letting out a small sigh, she set about making herself a cup of tea, focusing on nothing but the process - light the stove top, put the kettle on, find the tea bags, get the cup, add sugar, brew, enjoy - and nothing else because this was her moment and there was nothing else.  
Tomorrow she would go out and try to find meaning, even if she had to ask a certain Graverobber how to if she stumbled upon him, but at that time all that really matters was that she had a cup of tea and could simply be herself without any expectations.


End file.
